


Crazy Mind

by DestielAutomaticShip



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Hospitals, Injury, Love, M/M, Supernatural Elements, on-going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielAutomaticShip/pseuds/DestielAutomaticShip
Summary: Dean never thought he was going to be anything special, he was going to follow in his dads footsteps as a mechanic, get a wife, have 2.5 kids and then die without leaving so much as a footprint on the world around him.However, when a car accident that kills his parents and hospitalises him and his younger brother leaves Dean with nothing more to do than sit in a hospital room watching Sams every breath. Dean finds someone to entertain him. Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	1. How and Why

Dean Winchester lived his life how any average thirteen-year-old would, trying his best to run through each day in the hope of growing up quicker. In some ways it worked, he grew taller, got stronger. The only problem was that with growing up came the responsibilities of being a 'grown-up'. Dean hated that part, he hated the rules, the consequences he hated it so much that it made him want to leave and never come back.

So that's what he did, on January the 24th 1992 the day of his fourteenth birthday Dean left. He didn't have much with him except a bag and a couple of T-shirts accompanied by the baseball his mom had given him for his last birthday. He was ready to leave. The only problem was where ever Dean went so did his brother. Sam followed him down the street, he stopped with Dean at the shop and he ran with Dean through the bad parts of town.

Dean can still feel the snapping of his right shoulder as a result of a group of drunk men surrounding them in an alley. He can still hear the crunching of Sam's nose as one of the men throws his fat fist at Sam's face and he still remembers feeling so guilty that he could do nothing more than cry.

Both of them had been found an hour after the incident, Sam unconscious and Dean cradling him. Dean never forgave himself for that night and he doesn't think his parents did either.

_He never got the chance to ask them._

Dean doesn't remember what parts of his body the men had broken; he vaguely remembers his shoulder shattering but that's only because of the small scar indented just above his armpit and the inability to move his left arm barely higher than his head. But he remembers Sam's as clear as day, he can still hear the doctor say them as he sat in the waiting room, watching his little brother's body breathe brokenly through the window. Sam ended up with two broken ribs- three fractured, a broken nose and a fractured knee.

Dean hates that memory.

They spent the next two weeks in the hospital, his mother loosely holding his hand as they walked down the narrow hallways and his father glancing at him with nothing but hatred in his dark brown eyes. Sam eventually recovered and Dean had never been so happy, he'd stood by his brother's side all day getting him whatever he wanted as the nurse made sure Sam's cast was secure on his knee.

That year began with so many arguments that Dean was sure he'd lose his voice a month in, as most of the time it was him and John shouting. That's what he calls him now. Not daddy like when he was five, not dad like when he was seven just John, an impersonal and meaningless way of referring to the man who raised him.

Unlike John, Mary was more or less the same as she had always been. She stood by her promise to love Dean no matter what and of course didn't blame Dean for the hospital incident, even if John did. However, Dean would be lying if he said that he didn't notice the way Mary hugged him less often and held his hand a little looser.

Dean would give anything to have that year end how it started, even if it was just yelling, screaming and arguing.

It had been night from what Dean remembers when they left their house. He had been counting the minutes that John had been shouting at him and Sam from the front seat of the Impala.

He gave up after ten.

They had been heading to a diner as a pre-birthday treat for Dean as Mary would only see him for a few minutes in the morning and a couple of hours at night on his actual birthday. He can't remember what they had been arguing about. He wishes he could remember what it was. He hopes it was important.

It had been eight-thirty.

Eight-thirty at night on the 23rd of January 1993, on a cold winter road somewhere between Kansas and Nebraska. That's the exact moment his parents died.

Mary had taken her eyes off the road for only a second just to try and stop the constant back and forth of Dean and John's arguing but that's all it took just a split second for everything to go to hell. Dean barely had time to scream before the car tipped, knocking him back and sideways.

The car tumbled over and over before striking the central barrier and coming to an absolute stop. The car had flipped so many times that Dean had become disorientated before he even sustained the concussion that had him drifting in and out of consciousness. At times his eyelids fluttered shut and he thought he must be at home in bed because it was so dark. Then why the cold and the sound of rain on metal? Why the pain, God, why so much pain? He was fleetingly aware of the coppery taste pooling in his mouth but he couldn't figure out where it was coming from, the only indication being that it must be coming from somewhere on his face as he could feel it staining his teeth and soaking his tongue.

Silence; it scared Dean more than the pain. He should have called out, should have done something. He tried to move but he was pinned by the collapsing roof and the front seat. His neck was too broken to move and he quickly found out that he preferred to be unconscious than to be awake because whenever he was awake he could feel the aching of each one of his cracked bones. Each breath felt like rocks burrowing into his skin and as he sucked in the cramped air, he could feel his lungs caving in on themselves.

Coloured spots in the corners of his vision began making him feel like his head was full of static and he heard a buzzing noise, filling his ears. Dean felt like he was there for hours, fading and waking and fading and waking. His agony was the only thing keeping him alive. It was the only thing he could feel anymore. He thought he was going to die. He should have died. But then came a blue flicker, the sound of sirens, police? No, not the police. He had struggled to free himself only to be rewarded with more pain until he once again passed out.

The rest of that night can only be pieced together using random pieces of information he remembers the nurse telling him and horrific flashbacks that Dean prefers to keep hidden in the back of his mind.

To keep it short the impact had killed both of his parents and put him and Sam into the hospital with more than a few severe injuries, and for his fifteenth birthday, Dean had gotten the gift of being attached to a life support machine.

Miraculously a few days later he had woken up, choking on the tube that had been shoved down his throat and practically screaming in pain when he tried to sit up. Strangely enough, all he could think about at that point was that he had missed his birthday, he shouldn't have cared as the nurse had barely waited a full fifteen minutes before telling him that his parents were dead, but it had been all he could think about. He didn't cry when they told him, they said it was because he was in shock but Dean thinks it was because he had already known that they were dead. If they had been alive they would be with him, sitting by his and his brother's side. Pathetically Dean had prayed that, that moment would be the worse moment of his and Sam's life and that everything would only get better from then on.

How wrong he had been.

**...**


	2. An Angel?

The first week was spent glued to his hospital bed and chained to Sam's. He had refused to leave their conjoined room for anything or anyone that wasn't Sammy. This, of course, meant that all of the things he was supposed to be doing in some dark old room was brought into their room, including the walking frame Dean had been told he was eventually going to use daily in an effort to strengthen his spine and legs, and a large whiteboard for him to write on in order to stimulate his brain. However, having two broken legs, two broken arms, a fractured spine and a number of broken ribs amongst other things made doing so freaking impossible and frankly pointless.

He never used either.

The second week was interesting, to say the least. His parent's death had barely even fazed him and no matter how many times the hospital's psychiatrist would ask he would always reply with the same monotone voice and tell her that he was fine. He couldn't make sense of any of it, he loved his parents, he still does, but it was almost as if he couldn't remember them like they weren't _his_ parents.

Sammy still hadn't woke up but the nurses had told him it was going as well as they thought it would considering Sam had been in the car longer than Dean, plus John had weighed more than Mary. The doctors began to describe Dean's 'recovery' as no less than a miracle and said he was very lucky to be alive, let alone in near-perfect healing conditions.

'Lucky to be alive' that's what they kept telling him. But how could he have been lucky? His parents were dead and his brother was unconscious and broken beside him. _Lucky_ is not how Dean would describe it.

Three weeks in is when things started getting weird. Sam was still unconscious yet Dean was nearly fully recovered. It was impossible. Every doctor kept telling him that it was amazing he could heal so quickly and that it should have been 'impossible' to do so, his injuries should have left him wheelchair-bound for at least a couple of years maybe even the rest of his life and here he was.

Dean quickly learnt never to believe in the impossible.

He had been coming back from his usual Monday afternoon visit to the hospital's psychiatrist when it first happened. He had been walking down an empty hallway, limping as fast as possible to his and Sam's room when he saw something. It was something bright, almost glowing and coming from one of the rooms. Usually, Dean would have ignored such things, especially when his brother was waiting for him but he couldn't help himself the light was talking to him, humming a slow melody for him to follow.

He chased the light, watching it cast bright rays until he found himself standing in an empty hospital room with nothing but a ball of light. "What are you?" He asked. He remembers getting the urge to touch the light, to feel the energy rush through his body but something told him not to.

_I'm an Angel._

"Who..." Dean glanced around the empty room. "Who said that?" The ball of light chirped to get Dean's attention and floated around the room in a figure of eight.

 _I'm_ _Castiel._

Dean frowned at the ball of light. "Why can't I see you?" He asked blinking his eyes repeatedly to try and get rid of the blue and red dots that were slightly blurring his vision. The brightness seared into his retinas making him close them out of fear of going blind; it was the kind of brightness that would make fresh snow look grey and dull. It was a brightness to rival the sun itself and Dean was almost angry that he couldn't see the cause of it.

_Until I have found my vessel I have to stay in this form._

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean's fingertips tingled as a sensation of static vibrations bled through the white walls, the energy humming with life in an almost rhythmic pattern. How could any of this be real? An angel? A vessel? The possibility of it being real was zero to none. The electricity in the air must have been a part of his imagination and the shaking of his legs and heels must have been to do with his insomnia or the fact that he hasn't been doing his physio. Dean waved his hand through the air and watched as each hair stood, sensitive and pale compared to the tanned colour of his skin. He snatched his hand back.

What the hell?

_As I've said I'm an angel. To see me in this form it should be impossible as well as to understand my native language, you are very special Dean. That's why I've come to you, I need your help in finding my vessel- my human form._

Dean's stomach shifted uneasily and he noticed that the hands he hugged himself with were pinching his skin. He must be crazy, having a psychotic episode or maybe he's got too much morphine in his system. Dean released his hands but then couldn't figure out what to do with them, so instead, he clasped and unclasped them as if in constant need of touch and reassurance.

"Special? You've got the wrong guy. How would I even find your... _vessel?_ If you haven't noticed," Dean gestured to his body the cast on his arm and the brace on his leg immensely evident. "I'm a bit disadvantaged at the moment." The light hummed and darkened slightly in colour.

_Yes, I'm sorry about that, truly. I am trying my hardest to make sure you heal at the fastest pace possible. I would have like to heal you completely but..._

Dean blinked stupidly at the light. "Heal me? It-its been you who's been healing me?" The light hummed and circled him glowing with pride.

_Yes I healed you._

His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. This thing, this "angel" is healing him so that he can help find it's vessel so it needs him, it needs him to be alive and fully functioning and has the power to do so. That means it can do the same to someone else. To Sam. Dean blinked looking for a reason not to do what he's about to but his brain couldn't think of one because he already knew he was going to do it, he had to do it, for Sam.

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek biting hard enough to rip the stitches that coated his cheek until the taste of blood filled his mouth. He felt pain without a delay and quickly confirmed that it must be real and that it could be his last shot at saving his brother. "Okay," He said slowly glancing at the clock hanging crookedly on the wall beside him just to double-check and sighed in relief when it continued to tick. "I'll help you on one condition." The light moved closer.

_Thank you, Dean. I will do whatever you request._

"I want you to heal Sam."

...


	3. Speaking through pain

The light stops its slow melodic humming in exchange for a low almost growling sound. Even the brightness seems to dim and Dean unconsciously steps back. He can't help the anxiety that grows in his chest he doesn't know what this light is, he only has a name from this creature and a request to go searching for something he doesn't have any idea how to find.

_Dean to do such a thing it would take a lot of power, more power than I have_

At this point, Dean feels the relief that had filled his body melt from inside him and boil into anger. This ball of light that claims to be an angel has asked for Deans help with something that could be damn near impossible and he won't do one thing for him in return?

"What the hell?" He shouts stepping forwards with an accusing tone. "You ask me for help but refuse to give me one thing! If you can heal me then you can heal Sam as well." Dean turns his back on the light, brushing his hand through his hair and resisting the urge to pull it. He spins around on his heels and crosses his arms over his chest. "You will help him! Or-or I'm not helping you."

_Dean please_

"Don't! I need-" He sighs. "I need Sam to be okay. If you're using your power on me then stop, give it to Sam instead and I'll help you, I-I'll take his place if that's what needs to happen. Please just help me." Dean hates the way his voice breaks but he can't help it and watches in anticipation as the light flickers contemplating what to do. Dean holds his breath waiting for some kind of sign that this being will help him.

_I see. This means a lot to you, so I will do as you say but it won't be easy, I'm afraid it will take a lot of energy from the both of us and may be painful for you. Are you still willing to do it?_

Dean doesn't hesitate. "Yeah, I'll do it." Dean watches as the ball of light rises towards the ceiling his brain barely processing the movement as his eyes roll into the back of his head to try and follow the light.

He's frozen still, the thought of moving unthinkable. He watches intently as the ball rolls around the ceiling taunting him with its power before stopping.

Dean's hands spread like pale starfish around the handles of the edge of the table as he stumbles backwards. His body seems to resist the warmth that struggles to seep into it.

He's so cold.

He glances up watching the light go around in circles stealing the heat from inside him until suddenly the ball of light disappears through the ceiling and seemingly out of existence. That's when Dean finally steps forwards, he steps forwards into what can only be an endless abyss as he feels himself falling forever. An almost burning sensation running through his body like ice forcing itself through his veins and freezing his blood to protect him from the burning of his skin.

He tries to scream but the ice is squeezing his lungs and the fire is burning the saliva out of his mouth, the sound coming out much worse than a scream. The cry that tears from his throat has a raw quality, the realness of a person consumed by a pain that knows no end or limit. Then he's quiet, just panting until he's left a shaking mess of agony lying in the fetal position on a dirty hospital floor. The tears pouring from his eyes hydrate him long enough for him to think about how pathetic it is for him to die here, to leave Sam behind for good when Dean was only staying alive to be with him. But the relief from his tears lasts only for a split second before his throat nearly rips itself apart gasping for air and his tears begin to burn like they're being sprayed with dry ice. His eyes freeze over like the surface of a winter puddle, robbing him of any warmth he had left.

Until finally a violent tremor shakes his body, forcing him into darkness as his eyes flinch shut out of reflex sucking him into a deeper place inside his mind to cope with the torment.

It's all for Sam,

_All for Sam_

_For Sam_

... _Sam_

**...**

"Sam! Dean!" Dean bolts forwards gasping at the air and coughing at the rush of oxygen that attacks his lungs. He covers his mouth with his hand barely managing to keep down the bile that threatens to crawl up his throat. He squints, his eyes aching with the effort to keep open. Why's it so bright? Dean reaches around blindly as his eyes adjust to the light. His legs are covered with something warm and soft and the room he's sat in is humid and smells familiar.

"Dean! Breakfast!" Dean jumps, his heart racing as he looks around the room. He's...at home? The pale walls and wooden flooring are instantly recognisable along with the many trophies and medals hanging around the room labelled 'Winchester'. How is he here? Why? Dean rubs his eyes and carefully steps onto the floor ready for the world before him to melt beneath his feet but it doesn't and before he can process his movements he's already in the hallway, the smell of toast and bacon filling the air. He looks around himself in shock.

Everything is the same from the pictures, to the carpet, to the walls and the two circle-shaped dents where the doors used to hit against the walls when they were opened. "Dean! I told y-" Dean flinches and turns around to see his mother standing healthy and alive in front of him. "Mom?" He asks in awe, carefully stepping forwards. Mary smiles. "I know you've just woken up but that face is a little much. You look like you've seen a ghost." She chuckles, walking up to him and tussling his hair. Her hand is warm, soft, real. "Now go downstairs and eat. Sammy has been waiting all morning to talk about his project with you." She kisses Dean's forehead before tucking a stray hair behind her ear and walking out of the room into the bathroom. Dean closes his eyes.

This must be heaven.

The feeling of one of his mom's kisses, her warm personality and soft touch that he's missed so much. He walks towards the stairs, taking one last glance at the bathroom door before walking downstairs.

He slowly walks through to the kitchen his heart beating faster with every step, however, the sight that greets him makes his heart stop. Sam's sat peacefully beside the breakfast counter, his head buried in a book as he rapidly stuffs his face with pieces of toast. Dean smiles, tears threatening to spill as his brother turns to look at him. "Sammy." He whispers. Sam's here, alive and happy, he's himself. "Dean, finally, you took long enough. Look, come here, quick I wanna show you something." Sam jumps down from the stool he was sat on and grabs Dean's hand, pulling him towards the front door. "You're going to like it, it's what we've been talking about for ages now!" Dean feels the tears fall down his cheeks because they're both really here, and the house is full of familiar colours and the smell of mom's cooking. It's everything he's wanted for so long. But as Sam is dragging him impatiently towards the front door and his mom is walking down the stairs he feels it.

The pain.

And suddenly the world isn't so perfect. Blood is covering Dean's hand when Sam lets go of him and the blood won't stop, it's pouring out of Sams' nose, it's falling onto the floor and seeping through his clothes and Sam is just stood there, staring at him, calling his name. "Dean?" Dean refuses to look away, even as his lip trembles and his shoulders heave with emotion, unwilling to back down.

"Dean?"

Dean's dark lashes brim heavy with tears; his hands clench into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the grief about to spill out of him. He turns around. The sight of his mom is worse than he could've imagined. Her beautiful image is unrecognisable, her jaw crushed and covered in thick red blood, the liquid trickling down her face and coating her eyelashes, dyeing them a dark copper. "Dean? What's wrong?"

A lone tear traces down his cheek, and just like that, the floodgates open. He weeps, tears streaming from his bright green eyes, loud, heaving sobs tearing from his throat, and still, he does not look away. Not even when his mom's body distorts in front of him, not even when Sam begins screaming as his body is thrown against the wall and crushed, not when his very bones snap beneath him. Not until the sobs drive him to his knees does his gaze finally fall. He covers his ears with his hands and drops his forehead to the floor trying to hide from their screams.

And just like that the world before him disappears.

**...**


	4. I'm not crazy

Dean gasps as his body jumps forwards, a heavy burning sensation ripping through his chest as if he's been hit with a baseball bat, his rib cage feels as if it's shattering with every breath. His heart stutters in his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. His eyes shoot open just in time to see someone in a white coat press down on his chest.

A scream rips through his body as he's shocked awake the effect of the defibrillator more frightening than painful. His back aches and his stomach refuses to stop constricting and he can't hear. Everything is a blur of noise and colours around him he can't see them, he can't focus.

_Dean_

Dean freezes. The breath that had been stuck in his throat finally being caught as he pushes the hands trying to hold him down away, and throws himself forwards. The stretch as he sits up is excruciatingly painful and he can feel a set of burns forming on his chest.

There's a man stood at the end of his bed, his hair is dark and his eyes are even darker they shine an indescribable blue contrasting with the paleness of his clear white skin. Dean's never seen him before, yet he knows, he can see the brightness that shines within, that's being concealed by a man in a trench coat.

"You!" He shouts. "What did you do?" Castiel only stands there, watching Dean. He doesn't reply but his face is enough to tell Dean all he needs to know. He lied. "How-how could you? I trusted you!" Dean feels the tears fall down his face before he has the chance to catch them. His chest hurts so much more now, now that he knows, now that he can see his last hope slips through his fingers.

Castiel glances away and Dean's heart clenches in his chest. "You lied to me!" He screams, pushing away the hands that try to pull him down. A flicker of emotion shows on Castiel's face for a split second before it disappears again and he turns to face Dean with an indifferent expression. He walks forwards until he's standing beside Dean and raises his arm. "Don't touch me! Go away!" He shouts trying to wrestle his arms out of the grip of the nurses and doctors. He's screaming and fighting, trying anything he can to escape, to get away. Until he feels a hand grace his forehead and before he can fight it his eyes roll back into his head and the world before him turns black.

_I'm sorry_

_..._

When the car accident first happened Dean used to dream about it every night. Whenever he got close to shutting his eyes the memories would come flooding in. He'd be sat in the backseat screaming, calling for Sam and hurting for hours on end before he woke up again. The pain and exhaustion are never changing, except this time he isn't in the backseat, instead he is crushed between the front seat and the steering wheel, his head caved in and flattened against what's left of the windscreen. This time he is surgically removed from the car, his organs barely refraining from leaving his body as he's placed onto the icy concrete. His heart is barely beating inside his chest yet he's not in pain anymore. He can't feel anything.

He's electrocuted time and time again in hope of getting any signs of a heartbeat even though it's pointless. Someone's screaming beside him, yelling at him to wake up, to move, but it easily fades into the background noise. The lights are too bright, he can barely see. He feels his head slump to the side, the lack of oxygen flowing through his body decreasing with every breath. It's true what they say about not being able to recognise yourself if you were to be shown a direct copy because when Dean looks to his side to see a young boy screaming and crying, with dark red blood covering his face, he doesn't recognise him. He doesn't know this boy or why he's so very sad.

Perhaps he can't feel anything either and doesn't like the way the very air is leaving his lungs, restricting his breathing. His eyes are growing tired with the strain of keeping them open just so that he can stare a little longer at this boy who means nothing and everything to him at the same time.

It's not until he feels himself suffocating that he realises he's standing over his own body. A group of nurses is desperately trying to pump life back into his body but it's no use. He feels so sorry for the boy beside him he wishes he wasn't in so much pain. The last thing Dean feels is a dark emptiness before he fades into an abyss of unconsciousness.

**...**

Dean slowly wakes, his eyes stinging as they adjust to the bright hospital lights. He's had dreams like that too many times for it to scare him, now it's just a constant reminder, a nightmare he's forced to relive. Dean doesn't think he's ever felt more pain in his lifetime than having to feel his mother die, however, pain is the least of his worries. Dean watches the hospital lights glow their dull yellow making his eyes burn with every blink, but he doesn't care _._ The only thing on his mind right now is one thing, one person. The rhythmic hum of the lights seem to echo in the small space, his eyes watching them with slow and lazy blinks. _The angel._ The lights flicker their humming, stuttering for a split second.

 _Castiel_.

Dean sits up his eyes already searching the room. Castiel stands in the corner in his room his eyes easily out shining the harsh ceiling lights. Dean almost wants to cry again because he shouldn't feel so happy to see someone who has betrayed him but he can't help it and worst of all he doesn't know why. Confused and disgusted Dean scowls at the angel.

"Dean?" He hears his name being called, but it's not Castiel this time. This voice is flat and matter-of-fact nothing like Castiel's, it's two octaves too high and makes his name sound like a threat. Dean glances across the room to the redheaded woman sitting neatly and professionally in one of the blue guest seats. He frowns at her. "Who are you?" She smiles tightly, her eyes piercing his very skin with their sharp gaze. "Hello Dean, I'm Naomi. I am here to talk to you. Is that okay?" She asks, the question somehow sounding more like a demand than an actual question. Dean glances towards Castiel. There's something about this woman than doesn't sit right with him. "I-um,"

Castiel nods.

"Yeah, go for it." Dean replies. Naomi's movements are purposeful and professional as she clicks her pen to life and flips to a new page in her notepad. "Do you remember your full name?"

"Dean Winchester."

"Do you remember where you are?"

"Kansas Central Hospital."

"Do you remember your birthday?"

"The twenty forth of January, nineteen seventy nine."

Dean tenses at the brief hesitation in Naomi's speech and once again glances at Castiel. "Why were you walking around the hospital unattended Dean?" She asks. "Did someone perhaps ask you to follow them?" Dean swallows nervously. _Does she know about Castiel?_ He shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it. Where's Sam?" The woman nods, neatly writing in her notepad.

"He's okay, stable, exactly where you left him." She reassures.

Dean nods. At least she gives him answers to his questions unlike everyone else. "Dean, I understand this must be a difficult time for you especially with your brother's condition. But I need some cooperation from you, so I can help you."

Dean frowns at the hint of something that sits hidden behind the trusting glow in Naomi's eyes.

"What do you wanna know?"

She smiles. "Was someone with you when you passed out?"

Dean frowns. "Passed out?"

She nods somewhat uncomfortably. "Well, yes. After the seizures stopped." Dean blinks at her, shaking his head disbelievingly. "Seizures? I didn't know. What happened to me?" Naomi hesitates. He glances at Castiel, directing the question at him but the angel only shakes his head not even bothering to look Dean in the eye.

"Tell me." He demands, turning his attention back to Naomi. She clears her throat. "The nurses found you on the floor in one of the hospital rooms. You were having multiple seizures, uncontrollably so, the nurses could not attend to you which unfortunately led to your heart losing oxygen and caused you to experience a myocardial infarction, a heart attack."

Dean stares at her in shock _._ _Seizures, a heart attack? His_ whole body trembles because he can feel it, he can feel how broken it feels and how fucking broken he is. His heart and lungs are practically hanging by a thread inside his chest and he's developed a tremor in his left hand, but something's blocking it from him, hiding it. The longer he looks at his hand the more he notices the tremor but it's almost as if he doesn't want to look at it, his eyes refuse to focus. He glances up at Castiel, feeling tears brim in his eyes because the angel looks at him with such sympathy, such pain, as if he can hear every single thought that runs through Dean's head at that moment. His eyes sting with every tear that forces it's way out. He knows they're swollen and red it would be impossible for them not to be with the lack of sleep and his lack of ability to not be either in pain or crying.

"It's him". He whispers. Dean bites his lip as he feels his tears spill over one by one. "Why can't you see him?" It's supposed to sound accusatory but the energy has left his body before he has the chance to get angry and it turns into a sad sob as he slumps backwards in his hospital bed, covering his face with his arm.

"Who do you see Dean? Who is it?" The woman asks leaning forwards in her chair, watching his every reaction. Dean swallows around the lump forming in his throat. If he says it, if he tells her she can help, she'll understand.

He can see Castiel, he can see this angel in front of him or at least this man who is holding the angels being inside of his body. He's real, _extremely_ real, because nothing imaginary could make Dean hurt so much. So why can't they see him. "Tell me Dean." She demands impatiently. Dean glances at her, slightly shocked at the aggression in her stance how she's lent forwards casting an almost threatening glow. Something isn't right. He looks over at the corner, for a second, a brief glance and sucks in a surprised breath when Castiel shakes his head. He's telling him not to, telling him to lie. "I-" Dean clenches his jaw glaring at the bed instead of at Castiel. Trusting this angel again is going to be his downfall he knows it.

Dean looks at Naomi with pure malice. She's not going to hurt him, no-one is, not anymore.

"I don't see anything."

The venom behind his words must have sent a clear enough message because by the time he lifts his head back up Castiel is already gone and Dean realises he hasn't felt this lonely in a long time.

**...**


	5. I'm definitely not crazy

On the fourth week, the doctors moved Sam and Dean into the room on the floor above. It's spacious, bright and private with a large window opposite the door that overlooks the city beneath it.

Dean had been so excited that he chose to forget about his worries for a few moments to describe the view to Sam, the colours, the array of oranges and reds in the morning and the wave of blacks and purples at night. During the days when he's got nothing to do he describes the blue. He flicks through page after page and searches picture after picture to describe it, and even though he won't admit it, something stings in his chest when he doesn't find the right one. Because all the different blues they remind him of Castiel, keep his image fresh in Dean's mind almost like a safety blanket to keep him stable but it never comforts him for long. The angel is either a mystery or an illusion. He's something that has the ability to make Dean want nothing to do with him and at the same time want nothing but to see him. It angers Dean. He's known Castiel for a week and the angel nearly killed him the first day and lied to him, destroyed his last hope for Sam to recover as quickly as he has. And yet Dean has already trusts him again, he's actively searched for him. The angel is definitely a mystery and one Dean intends to solve.

**...**

He hasn't seen Castiel in a week but sometimes he feels him. He hears him helping him but the angel never stays around long enough for Dean to be sure. So that's when he decides to try a new plan, one to get the angels attention. Every time he hears Castiel, every time he senses him telling Dean what to do he ignores it and does the opposite.

If he tells him to eat he will refuse, if he tells him to sleep he will stay up if he tells him to go one way Dean will go the other. This continued for two and a half days constantly going against his better judgement and ignoring the secondary voice in his head until one day Dean slips in the hallway after Castiel tells him to go the other way and lands on his wrist. The pain was nothing compared to the shock when he felt Castiel's presence. It was pure anger, nothing short of erratic and by the time Dean was back in his room with his new cast he felt as if he'd received the scolding of a lifetime.

**...**

"You doing okay kid?"

Dean glances up from his bed and smiles. "I guess I can't complain." He says. "But if you could do something about how itchy this cast is, it'd be a real help Missouri." The nurse chuckles, flashing bright white teeth that contrast against her dark skin. She sets down the tray of food she was holding and holds out her hand. "Let me have a look." Dean extends his arm and lets her feel her way from his elbow to his fingertips, wincing as she touches his forearm. The light flickers. Dean watches it suspiciously, tensely grasping the bed sheets with his spare hand.

_Castiel?_

"So you can feel him too, huh?"

Dean freezes. _What_. He snaps his attention back to Missouri, carefully pulling his arm out of her reach. She chuckles softly and steps back. "He's a difficult one alright." She says gesturing to the flickering light as she opens and prepares Dean's food in front of him. "More possessive than he has the right to be that one." Dean stares at her in utter disbelief. _She can see him as well, it's not just him._ He glances towards the light again. That means he's here, he's watching. Dean laughs weakly so unbelievably relieved and turns back to the nurse "I-" But she's already leaving, walking out of the door and away from him. What if Cas leaves too? "Wait! Wait!" He calls after her and pushes the tray out of his way so that he can stand up.

A glass of water wobbles and falls from the tray, heading for the floor. Instinctively Dean reaches out to grab it but the glass is just out of his reach. Until suddenly it stops, it freezes in midair and everything else freezes with it. He can no longer hear the continuous beating of Sam's heartbeat monitor or the tweeting of the bird's nest on the roof.

"He's okay Dean."

Dean jumps and spins around, looking towards the corner of the room. _Cas_ _._ Dean can't control the suddenly surprised gasp he let's out at the sight of the angel. He's standing in the corner of the room yet it's almost as if the room itself brightened just by him being in there. Dean hadn't been given the opportunity to just look, to see just how beautiful this man is. He sighs softly feeling a kind of contentment he hasn't felt in a long time.

Why did Castiel ever leave?

Dean inhales a sharp breath to pull himself out of his daze. Castiel betrayed him _._ "Nice party trick Cas." He says dryly. "What is it now? Have you come to lie to me again?" He asks. "Try to finish me off once and for all?"

At least this time Castiel has the decency to look ashamed as he plainly refuses to look Dean in the eye. "I'm sorry Dean." He glances at him for a second before looking away again. "I understand that I'm most likely the last person you want to see," Castiel's hands awkwardly pull at the sides of his trench coat as he talks, wringing them in his hands. "But I truly am sorry." Dean's heart clenches at the sight. How can someone who looks twice his age be so _cute_?

Castiel jumps when Dean coughs, choking on his own saliva at the sudden realisation that he, Dean Winchester, actually finds this angel, this man, _cute_. Dean sighs and rubs his hand over his face. "Jesus Christ." Castiel's head tilts as his eyes scan Dean's body. "I don't understand."

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose to try and dispell the aching behind his eyes. Most people his age are dealing with how to figure out algebra but no he gets a weird obsession with a freaking angel to deal with. "Look Cas, I-" He pauses. "I don't know what to say."

"You lied to me. You told me you were going to help Sam and instead you used me. I just wanna know why Cas?"

Castiel swallows, glancing at the floor. "Dean you have to believe me when I tell you it was not my intention. I was going to give you whatever you asked for but when I reached out to you my grace...well, it reacted in a way I did not expect."

Dean watches the angel seem to contemplate his next words and urges him to continue. "What do you mean by reacted? It rejected me?"

Castiel steps forwards confidently. "No Dean, it would never reject you." He says firmly. "In fact, it did quite the opposite, it was trying to consume you or more specifically your soul."

"My soul?" Dean asks incredulously.

"Yes, it seems the grace that I have been using to heal you, my grace, has somehow _connected_ to your soul. So when I reached out to you it reacted, I felt it trying to wrap around your soul so I pulled away...I did not think it would cause your body to go into such a state of shock." Castiel steps forwards, watching Dean's reactions.

"So let me get this straight," Dean says as he scratches his neck, aggravating the skin. "You have been using your angel mojo to heal me and cause of this when you tried to share your grace it tried to _consume_ my soul and so you pulled away and it made my body freak out?"

Castiel nods, glancing at the wall. "Yes." He walks forwards, almost carefully as if trying to avoid being cast away. Dean's brows furrow as he watches the angel make his way towards him. "Was it you?" The angel pauses and seems to understand what Dean is asking without him having to say it. "Yes, I tried to make your pain somewhat bearable. I thought seeing a glimpse of your heaven would put you at ease but once again it seems I was wrong. Your mind seemed to corrupt your heaven with your memories."

Dean glances away embarrassed. How pathetic, he can't even be in heaven without fucking it up. He coughs and tries to change the subject. "So what happens now Cas?" Dean asks. "Are you gonna leave?" _Are you gonna forget about me?_

For a moment Dean thinks Castiel is going to deny that his plan had been to do anything but that until he sees the look in his eyes. Its cold and conflicted and confuses Dean even more.

"It is my mission. I always complete my mission." Castiel replies indifferently. His shoulders broaden and his posture straightens making him truly fit the role of an all-powerful angel, the type Dean's mom used to tell him about. Dean looks away, already prepared for the angel to disappear.

But he doesn't leave. He watches Dean with an almost cautious expression, one that has no right to look so damn vulnerable. "But that doesn't mean I'll leave you, Dean." Dean doesn't bother hiding the smile on his face and looks at the angel properly this time. It's not enough for Dean to forgive him completely but it's enough.

"Thanks, Cas."

**...**

Dean sighs as he walks down the hospital corridor, his shoes scraping idly against the rubber-like flooring. The tray in his hands acts as a weight dragging him down as his legs weakly try to keep up with the weight of holding something other than his own weight. The nurse had given him instruction to stay as active as possible so walking to get his food is now apparently a _thing_ he has to do. Dean lazily drags his feet, glancing in passing rooms to try and find any means of entertainment.

"Dean."

Dean jumps and turns around only to find an empty corridor. The fading light outside casts an eerie glow throughout the corridor as the line of windows shows the city outside. _It seems like almost a lifetime since he last went into the city._ Dean frowns and walks towards the window momentarily forgetting about his tray of food and placing it on a rouge hospital bed. The city seems different now, darker, in a way it never was before. He shivers as a gust of wind crawls through the gaps in the windows frame and wraps itself around him.

"Dean."

Dean frowns at the voice as it echoes through the corridor. "Cas?" He calls, following the echo as it floats down the hallway. With each step the corridor seems to get darker, his senses get more blurred. The skylights show him an inky black sky, the stars only just visible amongst the river of light beaming from the city below and casting an unnatural light inside the empty hallway. Dean stops just before he reaches the door. His hands are shaking again.

"Dean."

Dean jumps as a chill rushes down his spine and spins around with his fists raised. "Jesus Christ Cas." He sighs, dropping his fists. "You scared the crap out of me." He chuckles lightly, glancing up at the angel. However, Castiel doesn't smile back, instead, he grabs Deans wrist with a grip tight enough to break and pulls him closer. "We need to leave."

He pulls Dean with him as he marches towards the opposite end of the hallway, pushing Dean in front of him. "Wait- Cas!" Dean protests, desperately trying to pull his arm out of the angel's grasp. "What are you saying? I'm not leaving, Sam is here!" He shouts, finally pulling his arm from the angels iron grip. Castiel stops and reaches for Dean, putting his hand over his mouth and glancing around them with a look in his eye Dean has never seen there before.

Fear.

"Dean please we must, I can protect Sam I promise."

Dean carefully moves Castiel's hand off of his mouth and holds it trying to give the angel a sense of stability. "If you can protect Sam you can protect me." He whispers. "Why do we need to leave?" Castiel squeezes Dean's hand as if to reassure himself and looks Dean in the eyes. "They've come for you Dean, I'm so sorry if you stay here you will die. I can't protect anyone who gets it their way." Dean frowns and subconsciously steps closer to the angel. "Who, Cas?" He demands.

"The other angels." Castiel looks around himself again and shakes his head guiltily. "If we leave now they won't know about Sam and I can protect him, if we go near him they will kill him to get to you." He explains briefly, crouching down and grabbing Deans shoulders. "Please, Dean."

Dean bites his lip, contemplating the request. "How do I know I can trust you?" Castiel fixes him with a hard gaze. "I swear, you can trust me." Dean searched Castiel's eyes for some form of evidence that he's lying or tricking Dean. But he finds nothing. Dean feels himself frown at the intensity of Castiel's gaze and nods. If he doesn't trust him what other option does he have. "Okay...I'll trust you, but if anything happens to Sam," He warns. "I swear I'll kill you myself."

**...**


	6. Okay maybe I'm a little crazy

They reach the double-doors at the end of the corridor without an incident. Dean keeps his eyes trained on the floor like Castiel had told him to as nurses hurriedly move around the ward with a serene purposefulness. He pulls his eyes from the highly polished floor for only a second to catch a glimpse of the hallway that stretches beyond, cut into tiny squares by the thin wire in the window panels.

Without pause, Castiel pushes through another set of doors that swing open soundlessly and with ease. Instead of straight walls, the hallway has a curve, disappearing from sight in a hundred meters or so. It's almost suspiciously empty. Every few seconds they pass a different set of doors with a hand-sanitiser dispenser: to oncology, to geriatrics, to maternity, they bypass them all. Dean tries not to think too hard about the guilt building in his chest as they walk past the intensive care unit instead choosing to ignore it and head for psychiatry. He closes his eyes briefly wishing to say goodbye to Sam and making an oath to return.

A draft of air hits Dean's face, warm and with a tincture of bleach as Castiel practically drags him through the hospital, his legs struggling to find the strength to hold him up. Castiel quickly pulls him into a spare room, pushing Dean against the wall and shielding him with his body. A slither of light shines through the door showing him the silhouette of passing nurses but the rest is hidden from him by Castiel's body.

"Cas?" He whispers. "Why are we running? Can't you just, you know, zap us out of here?" He asks, unintentionally grabbing the angel's trench coat and using it as a safety blanket to ground himself. Castiel looks through the small crack in the door before glancing down at Dean. "If I use my grace then they'll know I'm here." He replies, grabbing Dean's hand as another set of nurses walk past the door. "It'll just make things worse."

Why the angels are in here in the first place Dean doesn't ask and Castiel doesn't tell.

As Castiel pulls Dean from the darkened room he quickly realises that being chased is nothing like the movies. In the movies, the stars look heroic, sexy and in command of the situation yet, in reality, it's far from that pretty version. He'd had no time to put on proper clothes or even grab his jacket and instead is obediently following behind Castiel in jogging bottoms, a loose t-shirt and a pair of old socks.

Dean's pulled from his thoughts when suddenly Castiel stops his relentless walking and freezes, causing Dean to bump into the back of him. He glances up and quickly realises his mistake. Castiel had told him to keep his mind blank but he had thought of Sam Longing, the angels can sense it.

Ahead of them lies magnolia walls, decorated with old black and white photographs of hospital staff- most likely deceased or rocking their nineties in some retirement home. He could fit at least two sets of himself with his arms outstretched across its width and standing at the end of the corridor is the redheaded psychiatrist from before.

Her hands are neatly crossed in front of her, holding her notepad and pen. "Castiel." She says, her face holding the same stiff expression as before. Dean feels Castiel's grip tighten on his wrist as they stand across from the woman. "Naomi." He growls. She seems to enjoy the response she entices out of Castiel as she grins at him, subtly relaxing her stance. "I must admit I am surprised to see you here. I didn't think clean up was one of your many duties." Naomi says, pointedly glancing at Dean. Her gaze is sharp and cruel, a clouded blue and everything Castiel's gaze isn't.

"My duties have nothing to do with you Naomi, this is wrong and you know it," Castiel answers, trying his best to sound convincing even though he widens his stance, ready to fight. Naomi seems to contemplate his words for a moment but quickly shows her decision as she reaches into her suit jacket and pulls out a large silver blade. "What I know Castiel, is that we have orders. And I intend to follow them."

Before Dean has time to process the angel's movements he's being thrown against the wall and hits the floor with a loud thud. Pain floods through his body as his head strikes the floor, sending sparks of agony through his barely healed bones. Dean groans rolling onto his side gasping and desperately tries to cough air back into his lungs. Rubbing his eyes he tries to stop the shaking of his vision and weakly pushes himself up onto his elbows. Dean doesn't know who threw the first punch, but suddenly Castiel's fist is slamming into Naomi's face as she throws her fist into his stomach. They both stumble apart for a brief second with the force of their punches before diving back towards each other, eyes narrowed in determination.

If hatred was visible the air would have been scarlet. Castiel rains down blow after blow onto the other angel as if he means to smash her into the very earth. Each doesn't just want the other dead, they want them crushed, obliterated, nothing left to bury.

Naomi throws her body weight behind her fist as she leaps forwards. It hits Castiel's jaw with such an impact that blood spills from his lips and dribbles down his chin, staining his white shirt. Castiel raises his hands and grasps Naomi's head, forcing his kneecap upwards into her nose. Dean flinches at the blunt crack that echoes through the hallway as Castiel releases her red hair from his grasp. Crimson leaks from both her nostrils and her nose is twisted slightly to the right.

She stumbles backwards as Castiel draws his fist back again and ploughs it into her stomach, it's like hitting a train head-on. The sheer force of his fist against her jaw shatters the surrounding windows and vibrates through the floor. Dean shields his eyes from the flying shards of glass as a thud shakes the walls of the hospital. He glances up to see Naomi bent over and holding onto her stomach, a large silver blade sticking out of her side.

"You pull it out, you die." Castiel growls.

Dean watches in awe as Castiel wipes the blood from his face and marches towards him. He grabs Dean's hand with such elegance and grace that Dean can do nothing more than be pulled along as the angel brings him to his feet once again. It's only when Dean sees that Castiel is heading for one of the larger broken windows that he regains his senses.

"Cas what are you doing?" He asks, watching as the angel uses his hand to quickly break and wipe away the excess glass.

Castiel levels himself with Dean, grabbing his shoulder. "Dean you're going to have to trust me." Dean barely has time to reply before Castiel picks him up and pushes his body out the window. Dean's entire body throws itself into shock as he screams, gripping tightly to the angel's arm and trying to pull himself back up. "Cas what the hell are you doing!" He shouts, clawing at the window ledge. The harsh wind pushes against his body trying to drag him down. However Castiel doesn't respond, instead, he grabs Dean's wrists, swinging him across the outside of the building. "Cas don't you d-"

A scream rips itself from Dean's lungs as he feels the wall he was gripping onto slip from beneath him and gravity lifts him away from safety. Everything turns into a blur, a blur that swirled out of existence, limbs flailing, mouth agape. Suspended in the air, he closes his eyes and surrenders himself to gravity.

Then suddenly he's not falling anymore. He's desperately holding onto the outside wall of the hospital, grasping at the cold stone as he's forced to stare at the potential fall below him. The wind blows in all directions, making the rain seem even heavier as it throws itself at him, beating him against the wall.

"Cas!" He screams, carefully glancing at the window above him. His legs shake as he attempts to lean forwards and get a better look at the window but only manages to see a flicker of light before his body pulls him back. Dean shakily wipes the rain from his eyes, trying to ignore the shivers running through his body as he glances down.

The ledge holding him is as wide as a single foot and with all the grip of black ice. It leads right around the building, some sort of architect's decoration, smooth dark granite against dyed beige concrete walls. Most certainly it was never designed to be walked on, never to take even the weight of a group of pigeons let alone a teenager. Dean looks down. "Cas!" He screams again. The people on the sidewalk are as big as the little soldiers he and Sam used to play with. There's no use shouting, no one will hear him. Dean crouches down, his stomach lurching at the sight below him and begins crawling across the ledge.

He reaches the end of the ledge within moments. The moss and dirt stick to his hands as he pulls himself up using the drain pipe. It's slimy and disgusting but he doesn't have time to complain as the rain is making the ledge wetter and Dean's hand slips a few too many times. He stands, leaning his body weight onto the pipe.

Then before he has the chance to react he's being pulled backwards and hoisted into the air. The hand around his throat squeezes tightly, cutting off his breathing as he dangles helplessly over a five hundred feet drop. A man stands in front of him, a lifeless and monotone expression on his face as he holds Dean. The man has clear pale skin similar to Castiel expect he has shockingly white-blond hair and vibrant green eyes. His eyes are glowing with barely contained power, an angel similar to Naomi with only one goal in mind.

Dean pulls at the angel's hand, choking around his words as he tries to shout. "Cas!" He kicks his legs out, managing to strike the angel but the angel doesn't withdraw, doesn't even flinch. Dean dodges the angel's fist and throws his own; for a brief instant, the angels chartreuse green eyes widen before he tilts his head back and slams it into Dean's. Stars burst in his vision as he tries to shake it off, blindly throwing a sloppy kick. Dean's head throbs with the lack of oxygen as his breath is choked from his lungs. He can feel the blood rushing from his nose is heavy gushes. His eyes roll back as his body loses all sense of strength and power.

Until suddenly the pressure's gone and his body drops. Dean gasps for air, clutching his throat. He doesn't know if he's falling or has already hit the ground all he knows is his head is spinning and he can barely catch his breath.

"Dean!"

He opens his eyes. _Cas?_ Dean looks up to find Castiel above him holding his hand as he hangs uselessly in the air. Dean finds himself confused at the lack of fear he has of falling and can't help but be impressed by the strength Castiel possess. Castiel easily pulls him back onto the ledge and grabs his hand. "Are you okay?" He asks urgently. Dean swallows around the lump in his throat as he stares down at the street below him. _He could have died_. "Dean!" Castiel shouts. "Are you okay?"

Slowly, he nods fighting back his shock as his body shakes with adrenaline. "Y-yeah, I-I'm fine." He stutters out. Castiel register's Dean's shaken body language as he carefully grabs Dean and chooses to lift him over his shoulder instead of bothering to get him to cooperate. Dean submits without effort and watches entranced as Castiel climbs down the drainpipe quickly and efficiently until they're on the ground.

Castiel gently lowers Dean onto the grass, catching him when his legs give way and he staggers backwards. Dean's entire body feels paralysed. His limbs move as if some inexperienced person is controlling them remotely and his eyes are wide, looking directly, but not really. Dean flinches at every sound, every flicker of light as he tries to talk sense into himself.

_They need to leave, they're still not safe._

It's only then that Dean realises the lack of urgency. There are no angels around them, they're sat still, together. The grass around him is burnt and dead, stretching across six feet of space and curving behind a troop of hedges. But it's still just them. Dean stands, cautiously walking across the brown grass until he reaches the hedges. The entire back of the hedge has been taken off, burnt into nothing and crushed. He quickly finds the culprit behind the trail of damage as the same blond-haired and green-eyed angel that had attacked him now lies in the bushes, his eyes grey and lifeless, blood staining his shirt from an open wound around his throat.

Dean looks at Castiel with a sense of recognition; Dean already knows its Castiel's doing from the clear precision and boldness of the killing. Somehow he finds that he already knows things about Castiel that he really shouldn't. He knows how he fights, fluent and powerful, he knows the way he kills, clean and quick and he knows that the red splatters on Castiel's shirt are evidence of his many kills and the blood along his dagger is obviously not his own.

_Castiel is dangerous._

Blood hums through his veins at that thought, whether it's from fear or excitement he can't quite figure it out. He watches Castiel almost quizzically as the angel sits peacefully, following Dean's movements. "What happens now Cas?" Dean asks, stepping forwards carefully. Castiel stands. "You are still not safe Dean. We must leave."

Dean nods, wiping away the blood from his nose with a hiss before sliding his clean hand into Castiel's and intertwining their fingers. Castiel holds his hand as if handling a precious gemstone, he's unbelievably delicate for someone who has just killed a bunch of people. They begin walking towards the gate entrance, breaking into a slow jog and trying not to draw any attention to themselves.

The soles of Dean's shoe's crash against the asphalt as he trips and staggers in an attempt to keep up with Castiel. The short jog leaves Dean's face flushed red with the strenuous effort on his newly healed bones. After spending four weeks sat in a hospital room doing nothing his heart pounds harder than it should, sending blood pulsating through his muscles. Just when he thinks they have outrun them, he hears the sound of feet running behind him, wings fluttering in his ear.

They're coming for him.

Castiel vaults over the fence to his right, catching Dean as he struggles to follow him over. They're out. Dean barely has time to relish in not being confined to the hospital's hallways anymore as he's instantly pulled along by Castiel. They run through the forest outlining the edge of the hospital and after a few minutes of running, Castiel pushes him under the shade of a couple of trees glancing behind him. "Are you ready?" He asks. Dean frowns at the angel, stepping closer as the trees whisper eerily. "Ready for what?" The angel grabs the back of Dean's neck and before he can protest the floor disappears beneath him and his face is hit with a wave of cold air as a white shadow wraps itself around him.

**...**


	7. So this is what you call an adventure huh?

"Dean?"

Dean slowly opens his eyes. His eyesight blurring as stray tears began welling up in the corners. Everything is fuzzy. He rubs his eyes trying to find the ground beneath him. "Cas?" He croaks, reaching out his hand. A pair of warm hands enclose over the top of his warming his whole body as if he had been wrapped in a soft blanket of feathers. He keeps his eyes shut not bothering to try and open them. Everything is too bright. He squeezes the hand holding his and winces at the pain that shoots up his arm. "Dean I'm here." A familiar voice whispers. "Just try to keep quiet everything will be fine. Just hold onto me and keep your eyes closed." As Castiel speaks his hand tightens its grip.

"Where are we?" Dean whispers back. His throat is raw and bruised making his whisper practically silent. Castiel's hand pets his hair. "Heaven." He answers. Dean inhales sharply his whole body tensing. The light darkens with his fear. The last time he had anything to do with heaven he ended up reliving the horror of watching his family die. He swallows heavily. "Why?" The angel seems to hesitate, trying to soothe the younger boy by covering him in warmth. "Calm down it's okay. We're in your heaven just try not to think and stay still."

Dean wills himself not to think. To not think about the angels after them, the dangerous angel beside him and the fact he left his baby brother in a hospital that's watched by both. His breath quickens and suddenly it's freezing his body is shaking with the effort to suck air back into his lungs. "C-cas?" He stutters. His hair stands on end a gust of cold wind travelling across every inch of his skin. "Cas?" He calls again hoping for a response. A thud hits the floor in front of him. His whole body shivering as the thud vibrates through him. Another hits the floor, closer this time. Then another and another. He swallows, his mind telling him not to but his body not cooperating.

He opens his eyes.

The abyss around him stutters, flinching as it morphs itself into real life. The darkness turns into moonlight, caressing the outline of treetops and drawing atoms out into reflections on water and fog into the air. The process happens so quickly that Dean's not even sure if there was an abyss in the first place. But his feet are wet and the wind sends chills down his spine so surely this must be real. Dean sits up from where he was laying on the ground. His entire body is soaked from what feels like a puddle beneath him but in the low light of the moon, it could just as well be a lake. Glancing around, Dean can just about make out the outline of trees around him and possibly a few bushes. So he's in a forest.

_Great._

Dean grimaces as he presses his hands into the dirt to push himself up. It squelches beneath his palms, forcing its way underneath his nails as he presses down into it. However before he can even get an inch off the floor his arms give out, dropping him on to the ground. The mud and water splurt upwards latching onto his face in dirty brown specks. He groans in disgust and spits onto the ground as he once again pulls himself up. This time he locks his elbows and pushes harder managing to eventually stand up on unsteady legs. His clothes stick to him relentlessly as he tries to rip them from his body but it's pointless.

His top and bottoms have hardened from the mud drying against him so he must have been here for at least a couple hours. In fact, it's a miracle he's even alive. Well, a miracle or an angel. Dean looks at his clothes, trying to brush the dirt from off of his skin. "Cas?" He calls into the darkness. The water sways as he trudges through it. "Where are you?" Dean tries to ignore the dirt coating his hands as he wipes stray pieces of mud from his face. The wind chills his bare arms as he walks behind the first set of trees. Branches pull at his clothing when he walks past the second set of trees. He stops counting the minutes by the time he walks past the third set of trees.

Dean starts to lose hope of ever escaping the forest that surrounds him and his body is beginning to feel the pressure. He walks as if his limbs don't really belong to him and each step is a negotiation rather than an order. Everything hurts now. Every damn thing. His legs are shaking and can't support his body yet his head is the only thing that's feeling heavy. The headache forming forces his entire body to lean to the side practically dragging across the ground instead of walking. Dean presses his fingers down the sides of his nose, miraculously it's not broken. There's a stake being hammered into his lower back, it strikes radiating pain in a way that shatters his brain - or at least that's what if feels like.

His calves ache as he trips over his feet his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears screaming over the sound of his chattering teeth. Until suddenly a light hits his face, shining in his eyes and momentarily blinding him. He stumbles back shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting at the distant light peering through the trees. His whole body slumps forward with relief as he starts dragging himself towards the light. If it's high enough for him to see it from between the forest trees it must be something big - a building or at least a street lamp as long as it's not surrounded by trees he doesn't care. Dean squints at the light trying to figure out what it's attached to. Another light appears next to it, so it's a building, a big one by the look of it as yet another light appears and then there's a set glaring at him along the outside.

Then all of a sudden he's stood beside it. The building is tall and kind of in the middle of nowhere and it's not exactly surrounded by trees but it's not away from them either they've just been replaced by a large fence layered with barbed wire. It's all brick and obviously old so possible a library? Or museum? Dean walks around the side of the building following the barbed wire a couple feet before he's stopped by a hedge. There's a large sign hanging on the front of the building but it's just out of his line of sight. It ends in 'al' maybe capital? Shit. He sighs contemplating going back into the forest and just hoping to find another source of light but he could be walking for hours, days. His gut is telling him it's a bad idea to enter this building without knowing what it is but its protest is being drowned out as his body screams at him to find warmth and to rest. He can't sleep in the woods especially when he doesn't even know what woods these are for all he knows he might not even be in America anymore. Dean closes his eyes for a second, his very being screaming out for Castiel. But there's no reply.

He crouches down next to the fence and feels along the bottom of it, looking for a loose end or a hole big enough for him to fit through. He pulls at the edge of the fence and manages to lift it out of the mud enough to create a slight gap between the hedge and the fence. Dean kicks at the loose metal until it starts to bend, forming an arch big enough for him to squeeze his legs through. He lies down on the ground and forces his legs through the gap pushing it open with his weight as he slides through it.

The metal slashes and pulls at his clothes snagging his skin and forming fresh wounds. He hisses through the pain and slides across the mud slick grass to escape the fences grasp. It flexes and morphs back into shape behind him. Dean stands up brushing the mud off of his sides. He turns up his nose at the fresh wounds covering the skin on his legs and stomach. The large gauges are soon to become scars and he cringes at the unattractive patterning it's going to leave. Dean pulls at his ripped clothing hoping to at least protect part of his exposed skin against the cold breeze. He turns around, walking around the side of the building trying his best to stick to the shadows and away from the lights.

Dean freezes as the light hits his face the rest of the letters coming together and lighting up on the building to reveal themselves. The words 'Osawatomie State Hospital' stare down at him in bright bold lettering. _Shit._ The last place Dean want to be is near a hospital, especially one for a bunch of nutcases who are shouting about fairies. Dean sighs. As if the world could be any more ironic. He needs clothes and at least some form of food and warmth if he's going to survive the night or the rest of the week if Castiel isn't going to be around to help. He scans the outside of the building, listening for anyone who could potentially ruin his plan or cause him trouble. The place is practically dead except for a few moving shadows that occasionally pass by the windows, most likely nurses attending to their patient's. Stealthily he creeps forwards close to the ground to not draw attention to himself.

He freezes with his back against the building as a bright light burns his eyes. Tires screech against the stone path hidden behind the gate. Dean squints at the burning brightness and sticks to the shadows as he walks forward to get a better view. His breath catches in his throat at the sight before him, the kind that chokes him and makes his eyes water. He doesn't even realise he's crying until a tear falls down his cheek and past his mouth the salty taste staining his chapped lips. He knows that sound anywhere the growl of an all American muscle car, it's purring engine washing over his body like a wave. There's only ever been one man to own a car like that in Kansas. The lights die in one quick flash removing their angelic glow and revealing the black sheen of the Impala. His heart drops as the door swings open, a man stepping out and shutting the door with the same pride and affection Dean used to shut it with.

John.

Dean steps forward walking into the light, the yellow gleam brightening his features. He swallows around the lump in his throat, a smile forming on his lips. "Da-" However the smile quickly falls from his face, his features contorting into a conflicted frown. He grits his teeth, John's dead. The man that stands in front of the car is too short and too rounded to be John. Dean slides back into the darkness watching the man who has taken his father's car, Dean's car, and who is adjusting the gun that they have clearly hidden in the back of their suit. Dean feels the sadness bubble into anger at the thought of someone taking his families possessions especially one so precious. He glares at the man as he opens the impala's boot.

Dean creeps closer making sure to stay in the shadows in the short distance between the building and the stranger. He hides behind a decaying rose bush as the man doesn't seem to notice him and quickly feels the ground around him. Dean's hands skim across wet grass trying to find something sharp that he can use as a weapon. His hand burns as he cuts it on something hard stuck in the ground. In the light of the building, he can just about make out the broken pieces of a discarded brick scattered in front of him. It's not ideal for a weapon as it's sharp edges will cut his hands to pieces but it's available and will protect him if he can get the upper hand.

He picks up the shard of brick and tries to ignore the sharp pain that radiates around his palm. _Dad would have thought of something better._ Dean glances over his shoulder at the stranger, waiting patiently for the ideal moment. As it so happens the right moment is when the stranger has his back to the impala and is clipping something to his belt. Dean steps forwards watching the ground for anything that will snap beneath him until he's close enough to wrap his arm around the front of the man's throat, pulling him close to his chest and forcing the brick shard just under his bearded chin.

"Hand me the fucking keys." He growls. The man reaches for the gun hidden in the back of his trousers but Dean shoves the shard of brick closer to the man's throat, tightening his grip. "Don't." He threatens. "I just-I need the keys." Dean tries to cover up the way his voice breaks but the man must of heard it as his voice relaxes ever so slightly. "Boy, you don't wanna do this."

Dean's breath leaves his body in one quick exhale of air, his arms falling to his side's and the shard slipping from his blood-stained hand. He practically falls backwards to create some kind of distance between them.

"Bobby?"

**...**


	8. Vetus memorias

He sees the man in front of him tense, obviously hesitating before he spins around. "Dean?" Dean's legs go weak beneath him as the light hits the man's face to reveal the one person he needed to see right now.

"Bobby?"

Bobby grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into a hug so tight that Dean feels light-headed but he's not sure if it's from the hug or the blood loss. Dean clings onto Bobby for dear life trying to hold back the violent sobs that shake his body. "Where the hell have you been?" He cries, gripping at the back of Bobby's suit jacket. The question is so simple yet so complicated. Dean has no right to ask such a question to a man who has no responsibility towards either him or Sam but he can't help it he needs someone to grip onto and pull him out of the crazy that has surrounded him.

Bobby pulls away from the hug to get a better look at Dean, still gripping his shoulders with a comforting hold. "Where'd you think boy? I've been searching for you and your brother ever since I heard you got in that accident."

Dean cast his eyes to the floor, sucking in a shaky breath as he tries to get his tears to stop falling. "What took you so long?" The salty water runs past his cheek and over his lips, falling from his chin before he can finish speaking. Bobby squeezes his shoulder pulling him in even tighter than before a gesture that Dean returns gladly.

They're stood outside for so long that Dean doesn't even recognize that he's still shaking and very much still bleeding from his wounds until Bobby's suit jacket skims over his arms. He flinches at the contact and Bobby instantly pulls back. He looks at Dean properly for the first time since they've been reunited and the somewhat contented expression falls from his face to be replaced with something unbelievably guilty. "Dean..." He sighs, swallowing down his previous question as realisation dawn's on his face. "Where's Sam?"

**...**

After taking cover in Bobby's - John's - car for warmth it had taken Dean roughly an hour to explain what had happened to him and Sam. "Damn." Bobby sighs, pulling out more bandages and disinfectant from his first aid kit. "And this _Castiel_ he just showed up, out of nowhere?" Dean nods, flinching at the accusation in Bobby's voice. "He...he saved me." Dean answers. Castiel may have lied to him but he did everything he could to get them out of the hospital and keep Sam safe. For all Dean knows Castiel could be paying the price for it.

Wherever the hell he is.

Bobby regards him curiously before returning to fix Dean's wounds. "I get it, kid, you owe him one." Dean nods. Owe isn't the word he would use more like he has a life-debt to him. Dean sighs and turns to look out the window. "Hey Bobby, why were you here anyway?"

The older man frowns at the question. "I was coming here for a case," He replies. "It was kind of a dead-end but I was hoping that something interesting would show up." Dean considers the reply as he chews on his bottom lip. "I guess I'm just really lucky that you chose to show up." He says. Bobby nods curtly obviously thinking as his hands become a little sloppy with the bandages. He glances up at Dean.

"You don't think-"

"That this is more than a coincidence?"

Bobby's frown deepens as he carefully drops his hold on Dean's arm once again, the silence between them hanging in the air. "What was the name of that guy again?"

"Well, he wasn't really a _guy_ he told me he was an a-"

Dean barely has time to hold out his hands before his face slams against the car seat. The car door swinging open with an ear-shattering squeal as its ripped off of its hinges and crashes into a set of nearby trees. He shouts for Bobby, reaching out to grab him and only just missing the tips of his fingers as they are pulled in opposite directions. Dean claws at the ground to try and find some form of grip but only manages to grasp at blades of grass. His teeth click shut as he's pulled across the solid ground. The invisible grip on his leg digs it's claws into the tender flesh of his ankles and pulls, flipping him onto his back so that he has no choice but to be dragged kicking and screaming.

He hears Bobby call for him, the sound of feet running along the ground. Dean watches as he's pulled past the broken car door, his fingers catching on the edge of it to try and stop himself from being taken into the crowd of trees.

Then suddenly a flash of blue light explodes around the edge of the forest like some kind of forcefield, creating a dome around him. The force of light burns Dean's eyes and he feels the weight on his leg release him and be replaced with a softer weight as knees hold him in place either side of his hips. He swings blindly hoping to strike the being in front of him but can only see multi-coloured dots blurring his vision.

The being pins his hands above his head, stopping him from moving. "Are you okay?" Dean stops fighting and blinks away the dots behind his eyes. "Cas?" He asks as the angels face forms in front of him. Castiel's head tilts at the almost hysterical expression on Dean's face as the boy lets out a shaky breath. His arms wrap tightly around Castiel's neck forcing the angel to partially collapse on top of him. "God am I glad to see you."

Castiel doesn't react to the hug and Dean doesn't expect him to. But somehow the angels stiff and confused body language is just as comforting. "Yes, I'm glad to see you too, Dean." He responds finally, lifting both himself and Dean up at the same time so that the younger boy is hanging off of Castiel's neck like a baby ape holding onto its mother. Dean huffs, amused that Castiel seems completely unbothered by his clinginess.

"Dean!" Bobby runs towards him, shotgun held high but quickly stops his attack when he sees Dean. The younger boy blushes, his hands dropping from around Castiel. He gives Castiel a tight smile before dropping his head and walking over to Bobby who pulls him into a hug.

"Who the hell are you?" Bobby asks, pulling Dean behind him as he raises his gun, aiming at Castiel. Dean pulls on Bobby's arm, pushing it out the way so he can stand between the two. "Bobby, wait! This is Cas!" Bobby frowns, aiming his gun slightly higher to avoid Dean. "That's Cas?" He says. "Boy, what the hell are you doing hanging around with angels?" Dean opens and closes his mouth, trying to find a way to respond to the question. "Um-well, I-" Hanging around _really_ isn't how he'd phrase it, more like getting chased, attacked and dragged around by angels.

Castiel steps forward. "It was my fault. I tried to protect Dean but my brothers and sisters are extremely relentless. They'll do whatever it takes to complete their mission, including giving their lives." He explains. Dean flinches at the way Castiel's blue eyes turn stormy at the mention of his siblings. He can understand the pain of arguing with your family, he can't even begin to grasp the concept of having to kill a sibling. Bobby's eyebrows furrow. "You're telling me that a bunch of crazy angels are flying around trying to find Dean?" He asks. "And do what to him? Kill him?"

Castiel glances down at Dean, a frown forming on his face as he looks at the boy. He swallows, looking away. "Yes." Dean swallows hard around the lump in his throat. _Right. A hoard of Angels is trying to kill him._

Bobby steps forwards, alarmed. "And why in the hell are they trying to kill him?"

At this, both Dean and Bobby look at Castiel. He never did explain that part. The angel glances between Dean and Bobby. "They are finishing their mission." He says, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. Dean frowns at him, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

Bobby growls, throwing his gun to the floor. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why in the hell is killing Dean their mission?" Castiel doesn't answer, his eyes glowing almost ultraviolet in the dark as he watches Dean. Angry, Bobby marches forwards, grabbing Castiel by the collar of his shirt before Dean has a chance to intercept. "Bobby, wait! Just let him explain!" He pleads, pulling at his arms but Bobby shakes him off.

"Now listen, that boy has been through hell and back, I know what's happened to him and I know you sure as hell do as well. So when I ask you why someone is trying to kill my boy you better tell me or you better disappear and hope to God I never find you." The look on Bobby's face is something beyond terrifying and for a moment Dean's not sure who should be more afraid Bobby or Castiel.

A look of strong understanding sets across Castiel's face and he nods gently. "Okay." He says, reluctantly. Delicately removing Bobby's hands from his shirt collar. "It was my mission." He admits. Dean's mouth forms a tight line as Castiel refuses to look at him, as Castiel admits to lying to him once again. "I was assigned to trick Dean and to take his soul. But I failed." He glances up. "I couldn't do it."

Dean swallows down the bile creeping up his throat. _No._ Tears brim in the corner of his eyes, his stomach lurching, betrayal burning in the back of his throat. "No," He whispers, stepping away from the angel. "I don't understand." His voice leaves him as it breaks under the force of his own words. He lied again, he betrayed Dean again.

Castiel's face looks as heartbroken as Dean feels and he hates the way his body encourages him to move closer, to find comfort and give comfort in return. "Dean, I swear I was going to tell you." He moves forward, his hands dropping onto Dean's shoulders. "From the moment I saw you I knew I'd never hurt you." He explains. Dean shakes his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. "No, you're just-" He clenches his jaw trying to keep the tears from spilling out, from the heartbreak threatening to escape. He inhales sharply stepping back from Castiel. "I can't trust you," Dean declares. Castiel steps forward, shaking his head lightly. "And I want you to leave me alone." The angel stops. Dean keeps his eyes steady, resting on Castiel's face, but just briefly, the sorrow already breaking past the walls he'd built up. The relief he had felt burning away under the surface.

The voice that had been nagging him since Castiels arrival returns. _Why does Dean trust him, why does he want to trust him?_

Castiel stays rooted to the spot, the breeze moving his hair softly away from his eyes that have expressed so much emotion over the last couple of weeks. Castiels features buckle just slightly before he speaks. "Dean please." His face is paler than Dean ever recalls it being. As if his blood was shrinking away from his presence, his lips almost ghostly in the moonlight.

Dean breaks his gaze, preferring instead to rest his eyes on the ground, on the stray blades of grass. Then he speaks with the least amount of emotion he can muster. "But there's no way I will survive this without you." He looks back at him, face set like an adversary, eyes cold, muscles tense. "So I need your help. I need you to keep Sam safe. But after this, _if_ we survive it, I want nothing to do with you." Dean feels his heartbreak a little more inside - the pieces becoming shards. He can feel himself losing the only friend he's had in a long time. For a short moment, he'd felt something close to happiness, the rush of adrenaline he got with Castiel making him feel more alive than he had in months. However, he supposes in reality that adrenaline was just blinding him to what the truth was. He doesn't know Castiel, he'd only seen what he had wanted, an angel, not a liar or a killer, he saw him as his way out. And now he can see Castiel's inner monster, the part of him that makes him such a convincing liar, and he knows life to him is a kind of possession. Unfortunately, it's a possession Dean can't afford to give away, not while Sam is in danger.

Castiel's head is bowed forward, looking at the ground in silence. The wind wraps around them, pushing itself under Dean's clothes. His head raises, his eyes closed as he takes a sharp breath, pulling his emotions back inside. He opens his eyes, staring at Dean. The blue of his eyes now grey and dull, the slight glassy look being the only evidence of his emotions.

"Okay," He says. "I'll help you and then you never have to see me again."

Dean nods curtly. "Okay."

**...**


	9. Just Angel Things

"Ah!"

"Cas, stop, stop!"

Castiel's moves his hand away from Dean's chest, frowning. Dean twitches beneath him, his skin has a thin sheen of sweat and his cheeks are flushed a soft pink. Each breath comes out in short harsh pants, his fingers twisting in the bedsheets underneath him. "It hurts." Dean groans, biting down on his lip to try and ground himself.

"I'm sorry Dean but I have to do this or they'll be able to find you."

Dean sighs, his face burning red with exhaustion. Castiel had announced that in order to give them more time he'd need to brand Dean with a protective ward, one that will make him impossible to find. "I thought you said it wouldn't hurt?" He winces, lifting himself onto his elbows and glaring at Castiel. Castiel glares back, his nerves getting the better of him. "It's not supposed to." He snaps, dropping his hands either side of Dean and sitting back. Dean bites the inside of his cheek trying to swallow down his next spiteful remark.

It's been barely a couple of hours since they argued. Bobby had decided that staying in a motel was the easiest solution. As Dean was still heartbro- _upset_ , damaged and extremely sleep-deprived, driving back to Bobby's in a busted car wasn't an option. And Castiel helpfully announced that him zapping in and out of existence can be tracked so driving an hour and a half to the closest motel was their only option.

So now with Dean laying on old motel sheets with an angel sat in front of him looking like a kicked puppy he's finding it very difficult to stay angry. Dean swallows, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Cas I- don't worry. Keep going it's fine I can do it." Castiel glances up at Dean, the same frown dragging his face down. He gives Dean a look that is just drowned in guilt and looks as if he's almost about to give up on his idea but an encouraging nod from Dean and he slowly raises his hand. Castiel's hand skims over Dean's ribcage, his fingertips tickling his sides and making Dean fidget. Castiel gives him one last look before pressing his hand down in the centre of Dean's ribs a bright blue glow shining from his hand and illuminating both of their faces. Dean instantly winces, his stomach tensing and clenching his teeth in pain. His hands reach for the bedsheets but instead, he is met with the warmth of skin, he glances down at Castiel but the angel is intently watching Dean's stomach apparently unaware of his larger hand wrapped around Dean's. Something warm rushes through Dean as his hand squeezes even tighter around Castiel's, the pain slowly easing.

Then he can see nothing at all. His consciousness is floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space, his body floats alongside the watery air. All feeling in his body draining away until finally, all is black.

**...**

Dean's eyes twitch and squint open, his hand coming up to shield his eyes, rubbing them with the side of his thumb. He groans, a yawn slipping out as he stretches across the bed. Dean wipes the corner of his mouth on his t-shirt squinting his eyes around the room as the sun partially blinds him. He coughs rubbing his chest. Still in the motel. Groggy and confused he sits up and looks around the room. Empty. Okay, so he's alone in the motel room. Dean swallows. "Bobby?"

No one responds. "Cas?" He untucks himself from under the covers and stands up. It's only when the cold air hits him that he regretfully realizes he's only wearing a slightly oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Dean frowns at his own appearance pulling at the shirt to try and save at least a bit of his dignity. So, of course, it's in that moment that Castiel decides to pop in when Dean is half-dressed, pulling at his top like a dress while simultaneously flashing the whole of his lower half.

"Jesus, Cas!" He pulls at the front of his top to try and cover himself a mix of embarrassment and morality making him not want to expose an angel to such things. But then again, he reasons, Castiel is already looking. Plus nudity probably means very little to an angel. Dean glances awkwardly at the angel as he slowly let's go of the iron grip he has on his t-shirt. "Where's Bobby?" He asks. Castiel's eyes rake themselves up and down Dean's body as he steps forward. "Out." He replies. "Not back for at least an hour." Dean nods curtly keeping his gaze to the floor to try and avoid Castiel undeniably intense one. Castiel continues to saunter forwards not once removing his eyes from Dean's, stopping directly in front of him. Castiel raises his hand and strokes a few strands of hair out of Dean's face. He watches as Dean flushes, a bright pink staining his cheeks, his eyes not once leaving the floor.

Castiel's hand moves lower on his face, grabbing the bottom of Dean's chin and pulling his face closer to his own. Dean watches Castiel with wide eyes. "What are you-" He glances down at Castiel's lips. "Doing?" He finishes slightly breathless from the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Castiel doesn't respond instead he traces his thumb over Dean's bottom lip carefully watching his reaction. The angel's hand slips to the curve of his back pulling Dean closer, his breath tingling against his lips. His whole body is drawn to the angels unable to focus on anything other than the warmth of his body and soft gaze. At that moment he realises he actually wants to kiss the angel, to be kissed by him. So he does, he leans forwards their lips almost touching and-

"Dean?"

Dean jumps forwards, swallowing hard. The blood pumps loudly in his ears, his face heating up from the rush of liquid. A burst of adrenaline shooting through him, blinking rapidly as he pulls himself from his dream and tries to focus on the two figures stood in front of him. Both Bobby and Castiel are stood beside the open motel door watching him with frowns. Dean ducks his head as he feels his face go impossibly redder. "Erm, yeah..." He mumbles. "Yeah?" He says louder. "What is it?"

Bobby's frown deepens as he steps into the motel room and nudges the door to a close. "You doing okay kid?" He asks. His eyes are pointedly scanning Dean's face inspecting every reaction even as he rustles through the brown paper bag under his arm. Dean nods vaguely his attention being drawn away by the unmoving figure in the centre of the room. Castiel watches him with his usual detached expression. His eyes wash over Dean moving from his face to his legs hidden beneath the covers and then moving back up. Something flashes beneath the surface of his hardened expression and Dean hurries to investigate the sudden shift. But he's too late, the emotion disappears before he can identify it, like reaching desperately for an escaped balloon.

By the time Dean has so much as glanced at Castiel's face, the angel is turning away from him, assisting Bobby with placing down two more brown paper bags and unpacking the contents. Dean leans forward to get a glance around him. "What'd you get?"

Castiel doesn't answer. "Food," Bobby responds gruffly. Dean sighs, fidgeting at the sound of bags ruffling and being unable to see anything. He stretches his legs under the covers and turns to his side in an attempt to get out when-

" _Where's Bobby?" "Out"_

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. Worrying his bottom lip as a wave of heat floods through his body again. He begins to feel the beginnings of arousal pool in the pit of his stomach. That's when he's hit with the realisation that his dream self presented him with. No pants. He grips the sheets slightly tighter, glancing at Castiel and Bobby to inspect their still turned backs. Quickly he lifts the covers peaking at his lower body and thankfully being greeted by a new pair of grey jogging bottoms. In fact, he's wearing his pair of jogging bottoms that were nothing more than ripped, dirt-covered fabric a few hours ago. He frowns at them but chooses not to think about it. Some things are more important.

Dean rolls out of the bed, wincing as the springs dig into his legs. His eyes once again find their way to Castiel's back but the angel is busy discussing some type of warding to Bobby. Dean huffs tiredly and walks into the bathroom.

He turns the tap and washes the water over his hands, pooling it in his palms before splashing it across his face. He looks up in time to watch the rivets of water run down his face. But the face staring back at him is a surprise because when the hell did his skin start _glowing_? His eyes are glassy as if to protect the suddenly emerald green of his Iris' and each of his eyelashes have noticeably thickened and darkened. Dean stares back at himself in shock. He knew that he was fairly attractive but _this_ was something else. Especially for someone who was practically bleeding out earlier. He was covered in scars, cuts and bruises and now they're all gone, not a single trace left on his skin. Dean frowns and leans in closer, the bathroom light casting a dark shadow over his features. There's not a blemish on him. No scars from his childhood, the scratch on his head from falling on the street, the faint white outline that highlighted his nose from when he had broken it. All of them have been taken, stolen from his body. His face glistens back at him in response so he splashes it a few more times for good measure; to make sure this is real.

Dean inhales a shaky breath.

He quickly wipes his face with the bottom of his t-shirt and rushes into the next room. "What the hell is going on?" He asks, gesturing to his face. Both men look up at him, then at each other.

Castiel's eyes scan him, a frown beginning to form on his face as Dean continues to gesture to himself. "I did warn you there may be side effects." He says wearily, his eyes staying on Dean as he ever so slightly turns his head towards Bobby. Dean's eyes bulge out of his head. "What?" He squeals. "What side effects?" Bobby sighs as Dean turns towards him.

"When angel boy here was putting the sigils on your chest you passed out. You were already in bad shape, covered in cuts, so I got him to fix you up."

Dean stares at them waiting for him to go on but the hunter just stares back at him. "Yeah, _and_?" He shouts. Bobby nods towards Castiel and the angel sighs. "It seems my grace was too powerful for your body to handle." He pauses. "Trying to ease the emotional discomfort of your parents passing, along with healing your body for a prolonged amount of time it, well, you have too much grace in your system. It's coursing through your body and fixing any... _imperfections_ it finds."

Dean frowns. "So what I'm immortal until it eventually flushes itself out of my system?" Castiel shrugs noncommittally. "Not immortal but I suppose your healing rate will be accelerated." Bobby raises an eyebrow at him. "Explains why you didn't bleed out from your wounds."

Dean nods. It makes sense he supposes. Castiel's grace has been saving him from death. Saving him from a lot of things apparently.

Unfortunately, the realisation dawns on Dean much too late. He thought Castiel had only been blocking him from his pain but evidently, it goes much deeper than that. That's why he couldn't feel it, the pain from losing his parents, from having his broken bones healed, his ligaments damaged.

If Castiel has been controlling his feelings then who's to say he isn't controlling his actions? Who's to say he isn't the one convincing Dean to follow him, luring him away from Sam. He glances at Castiel and he knows the angel can hear him, understands him. "I-" Dean shakes his head. It's not the time.

"Fine whatever just another thing I have to deal with." He says, distracted by his thoughts and turns to go back to the bathroom but stops short. "That's it, isn't it? No more secrets." Castiel looks past him when he nods and Bobby looks at him too much.

He doesn't believe them.

Dean turns away silencing the doubt in his mind with the running of the showerhead. He sits on the edge of the bathtub staring at his own warped reflection. His top lip sneers at the face staring back at him before he chooses to not stare any longer. Dean pulls off his clothes kicking them across the floor and stepping into the shower.

He closes his eyes under the warm spray of the shower, washing his hands over his body and through his hair. It's barely a few minutes before he feels the first twinge in his leg. It's nothing more than a small pain, not enough to complain about but too much too ignore as it distracts him from the comfort of warm water. Then after a couple of minutes, a crippling spasm hits forcing him to almost double over, working it's way up to his back, stabbing his bones and forcing him to sit down.

He scowls at his legs as the ache sends ripples of burning pain through his nerves. His legs shake as he tries to put his weight back on them. Dean sighs as he catches sight of himself in the mirror once again. Of course, Castiel's grace can make his face look as if he'd received the best skincare available since birth but it won't help his muscles to form properly.

Typical.

**...**


	10. Powers?

After waiting over ten minutes for the feeling to come back to his legs Dean decides that the best thing to do is regain at least _some_ muscle memory, especially since he's being hunted by a pack of all-powerful supernatural creatures. He convinces Bobby to train him an hour later and after much effort on Dean's part, Bobby accepts.

Dean gets dressed into a loose pair of jeans and a jumper that Bobby had come across in the gas station that morning. Where he actually came across them went unspoken. He and Bobby drive to a nearby field (after asking Castiel to fit the door) and find a small area crowded by trees to not draw attention to themselves and a few shooting targets: a soda can, an old cowbell and something metal and disfigured. By the time they finish, it's nearing midday and the sun is set high above them heating the ground.

"Right." Bobby starts, a gun ready in hand. "Aim." Dean's eyebrow raises. "Aim." He repeats. Bobby holds the gun out in front of him pointedly holding the end away from both him and Dean. Dean watches with contained fascination at the way Bobby handles the gun, obviously familiar. How he's familiar Dean doesn't know. He doesn't think he wants to. John had told him that he used to be a cop, ex-military, weapon engineer, the occupation would change every other time Dean asked. No matter what his occupation he was a hunter, his job always to find people, save people.

Bobby hands over the gun with care, arranging Dean's hands so that he is holding it properly. Bobby pulls his hands into position, high on the grip. "First, always use your dominant hand, best stability, better aim." Dean twitches his last two fingers around the base of the grip his ring finger resting on the trigger. Bobby manhandles his hands again. "Shooting finger should never be on the trigger unless you're aiming and going to shoot." He grumbles. "Index, middle, ring and pinky, on the other hand, should be around the base and your other hand. There. Now you have balance." He nudges the end of the gun. "Loosen your grip a bit, it needs to be firm but don't be afraid of it."

Dean nods, the weight of the gun pulling his aim slightly. Bobby nudges Dean's foot with his own. "Shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent." Dean moves his feet out slightly trying to keep his body relaxed, grounded. He squares his shoulders and leans ever so slightly forward. One of his eyes closes targeting with his dominant eye, a slight bend in his elbows. His aim circles moving in a small figure of eight, swaying side to side as his muscle memory fails to keep his arms steady.

Bobby nods at him, giving him the go-ahead. Dean hesitates. "Don't anticipate the shot." He says. "Only focus on aiming and technique." Dean breathes in slowly, aiming. He pulls the trigger. The first shot echoes across the wide landscape like the sound of lightning hitting the ground. The bullet slices through the air missing the target by at least ten inches as it lands in a tree just behind. Dean frowns. Bobby slaps him on the back with a smile. "Not bad," He nods. "Better than your dad was." Dean's eyes widen. "Dad knew how to shoot?"

Smiling pensively, Bobby takes the gun from Dean's hand and giving it a once over. "Yeah, it was my suggestion, a precaution to keep you boys safe once he found out about all this." Bobby hands the gun back to him, patting his shoulder encouragingly. Dean smiles back half-heartedly taken aback with this new discovery as he takes the weapon, holding it with both hands.

"John knew about angels?" Bobby shrugs. "He knew enough to keep you safe. The less you know the less likely you are to seek them out." He says pointedly. Dean ducks his head. Bobby's properly right, Bobby's always right, he'd go searching for the supernatural the moment he heard about them. Unlike John who continued life like normal. He wonders how the hell his dad did it.

He glances down at the gun in his hand, the weight of it suddenly feeling much heavier. "Bobby?" He talks to Bobby's back as the older man organises the weaponry behind him. Bobby grunts in response. "Am I...I mean- is there..." He exhales frustrated, keeping his gaze to the ground as Bobby turns to face him.

"Is it wrong that I don't feel sad?" He rushes out. "You know, about mom and dad?" He elaborates when Bobby frowns at him. Pity quickly takes over Bobby's features and Dean tries not to squirm under the attention. He instantly regrets asking it and feels guilt rising up inside him. Of course, it's wrong he should feel distraught unable to function under the weight of grief and yet he's wasting time thinking about an angel he's only known for a couple of weeks. When it comes to his parents he's been neutralised to emotions yet when he's with Castiel it's almost as if everything is enhanced. That's why the betrayal cuts him so deeply, why being around Castiel can exhaust him and yet fill him with adrenaline. Even thinking about it confuses him.

Dean glances up at Bobby through his eyelashes in order to gauge his reaction but Bobby's face has gone blank. He quickly looks away thinking of a way to take his question back when Bobby's hand rests on his shoulder. Dean tries not to flinch too hard at the contact when Bobby squeezes his shoulder and he finally looks up. "Boy, there is _nothing_ wrong with you. You have no obligation to feel anything and no one can tell you otherwise." Bobby looks him directly in the eye as he speaks the pressure on his shoulder grounding him. "We'll sort this out, me and you and then we're gonna get your brother and you're gonna come live with me."

Dean can feel his bottom lip shaking threatening to spill out the emotions hidden behind. He only just manages to grasp ahold of them when Bobby sobers up and clears his throat. "Now come on, you'll need a better aim than that." He squeezes Dean's shoulder once more before letting go and nodding towards the target. Smiling, Dean turns back to the targets and lifts the gun.

_Bang._

**...**

As it turns out the effort Dean put into showering was well wasted as he arrives back at the motel sweaty and tired, his legs and back aching from running and trying to gain muscle. Dean throws himself onto his bed sighing heavily at the scratchy material and toeing off his shoes. Bobby left to chase up the case he had been working on to ensure it really was a dead-end so that left just Dean and Castiel in the motel room. Dean sighs again, heavier this time. The urge to change his clothes and scrub off the sweat makes his skin itch but today his tiredness comes in both forms, physical and mental. His body needs rest yet his mind is still wired, piled with unanswered questions, trying to burn out the anxiety he feels. Without the distraction of sleep, he can't keep his mind from wondering about Sam, Bobby, his parents, the angels chasing him and most notably the angel sitting a few yards away from him.

Dean watches the back of Castiel's head as the angel gazes absently at the TV in front of him. He can tell that Castiel isn't in the room mentally, that he's probably got glazed over eyes and is watching something millions of miles away. Dean rolls his eyes, well at least they don't have to make small talk. He closes his eyes, itching his nose as the dust settles in the air and then presses his palms into his eye sockets.

"Tired?" Dean jerks with a start, sitting up.

Castiel is sat on the bed next to him now, a neutral expression keeping his face guarded. "No, I'm fine," Dean mutters, rubbing his eyes fiercely.

"You're lying." Castiel frowns.

"Don't do that." Dean scowls half-heartedly as he tries to contain the yawn threatening to spill out. He doesn't want Castiel to care or to pity him because then it's easier to forget all the reasons why he shouldn't forgive him and go against his word.

"Dean please," Castiel responds softly, earning him a glare from the bed beside him.

"I don't _need_ to sleep, what I need is to be able to protect myself."

"I understand, but you won't improve if you don't allow yourself to rest." Castiel protests. Dean rolls his eyes and stands up, walking to the bathroom. "Yeah cause you only want what's best for me don't you Cas?" He snaps, grabbing his spare set of clothes and a towel. He doesn't bother to look at Castiel's expression because he knows it'll be blank, indifferent to Dean's jabs and insults. He digs his nails into his towel as he shoves his clothes onto the bathroom cabinet.

"Dean," Dean bristles, turning towards the door. Castiel leans against it, his eyes glowing under the fluorescent bathroom light. "Just because I made a mistake doesn't mean I don't care about you." Dean grits his teeth too tired to argue and inhales deeply. "Cas, I've told you, if you want to help, then help me survive all this crap. Otherwise, leave me alone." Castiel's shoulders slump, his eyes downcast. "Dean please I'm only trying-"

"Well don't try!" He snaps. His rage comes out faster than lava and just as destructive. He throws his towel at Castiel in a fit of anger, his fingernails digging moon-shaped indents into his palm in an effort to try and reign at least some of his anger back but he fails miserably. "Just leave me alone! I don't need your help." He jabs a finger at Castiel's chest with each word. "If I hadn't listened to you I wouldn't even be in this mess!" Castiel reaches out to calm him, his hand barely skimming Dean's arm. The touch is more than just a slight tingle that runs underneath his skin. No, it's as if someone has attached a live wire to each of his nerves, and his body convulses as the violent electrical current pulses through him.

"Don't!"

Dean barely scatters faster than the shards of glass in their explosive arc. His eyes squeeze shut, prepared for millions of knives to fall on to his exposed skin however, they never come. He opens one of his eyes to find himself pressed against Castiel's chest, the angel shielding him from the destruction that rained from above them. The room now shaded in dull natural light.

Dean frowns, slowly pushing himself from Castiel's grip. "Cas what the hell did you do that for?" He asks gently, afraid that too much noise might startle the angel into more explosions. But when he turns back to Castiel he sees the opposite of caution. He's starring at Dean in awe, as if he can't quite understand what happened but doesn't care. His pupils are dilated, blown so wide that they're almost completely black like an abyss sucking the blue into them. "Cas?" Dean watches him with wide eyes, subconsciously stepping back. Castiel seems to shake himself out of whatever state of shock he's in and focuses on Dean. "I-" He pauses. "It wasn't _me,_ Dean _._ "

The hammering of his heart screams at him as if trying to fight its way out of his chest. Dean's eye blur as he stumbles backwards, bumping into the bathroom counter. His head rolling with the impact, eyes glazed. His voice comes out thin and distant, "What, but, no, I didn't, that's... not..." He's breathing all wrong, beginning to gasp like there's not enough oxygen in the air. Castiel reaches out to try and reassure him but Dean flinches out of reach. "No...out. Get out!" He pushes the angel out the door, slamming it behind him and falling against it.

_What the hell is happening?_

**...**

Dean stays in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon, fleeting between having panic attacks and trying to recover from them.

Soon after Dean had slammed the door in Castiel's face the angel hadn't made an attempt to re-enter the most he'd done was clean the glass from the floor using his grace. Dean stares at his still shaking hands and swallows. This must have been what they were trying to hide from him. He's smart enough to know that this is Castiel's grace, it's the only thing he has been exposed to and it seems to have done more than just heal him. Dean glares at his hands willing them to stop shaking and grasp onto some form of self-control. Out of all the things that have happened to him, this isn't the worst and he's certain there are going to be worst things to come.

_So why the hell is this freaking him out so much?_

It's then Dean recognises that his body must be reacting to the lack of grace running through him after expelling most of it without meaning to when he exploded the light. Some sort of low blood sugar effect taking place and causing his body to work against him. He grits his teeth at the fear that spikes through his body.

It's temporary, he can control it.

Dean takes a shuddering breath when he hears the motel door click open. Bobby. For a second Dean has the urge to open the door and fling himself into Bobby's arms just to be able to alleviate his problems by passing them onto someone who has a better chance of dealing with them. But he quickly kills the idea, Bobby is already trying his hardest to sort this out, he doesn't need Dean piling on more problems. Instead, Dean stands up and walks to the sink. He runs the water over his hands until it's ice-cold and splashes it on to his face. Dean glances up at the mirror and can't help the way his lip curls at the airbrushed version that looks back at him. He dries his face and hands and pulls open the door.

Dean's stomach drops the moment he walks out of the bathroom but he forces himself to act casual and leans against the wall as far away from the beds as possible. Bobby looks up as he walks in. "Alright?" He doesn't need to look over to know Castiel's in the room he can feel the electricity buzzing through the air above him. "Fine," He smiles even though it feels tight on his face. "How'd the case go?" Dean feels Castiel watching his face, his gaze unwavering and unabashed. He rolls his shoulders trying to break the tension building between the two of them. His eyes stray to the side to stare at the rug underneath the angel's feet, not willing to break completely but curiosity getting the better of him. Curiosity as to how Castiel is looking at him whether it's interest or disgust. Whether he'll tell Bobby. Dean instantly looks up, catching Castiel's eyes.

His eyes rest on Dean's, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect is soft and inviting instead of harsh. There's no disgust, none of the distrust that he expected Castiel to have for Dean using his grace, tainting it. Perhaps its Castiel's lips that give away his intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they mean to. Dean keeps his gaze firm.

 _Don't tell Bobby, don't tell Bobby, don't tell Bobby_.

Castiel's eyebrows draw together but Dean keeps projecting the same three words, silently pleading. Castiel searches his eyes for a moment longer before his questioning frown fades and Dean let's out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"So I'm going to go get his weapons and then I'll be back tomorrow."

The only time Castiel's gaze breaks is when Dean turns his head away and Castiel focuses on Bobby, turning to give him his full attention.

"Wait what?"

Annoyed, Bobby grumbles out a, "You heard me." As he grabs his coat and keys off of the table. "I'm going to meet an old connection of mine to get some weapons, I'll be back tomorrow." Dean steps forward, his eyes darting to Castiel.

"Yeah, I got that part. Except you meant to say ' _we_ are going'?" Dean makes to walk towards his bed and get his shoes but Bobby's pat on the back stops him. "That's because _we_ are not going anywhere. I'm gonna go drive there and you're gonna stay here with angel boy where it's safe." _Safe_? Dean's body tenses. No way is he being stuck here all night with Castiel, especially not alone. Being anywhere near Castiel at the moment is definitely not _safe_. Dean shrugs Bobby's grip off of his shoulder.

"What? No! I'm coming with you." Dean tries to walk to his shoes but again is stopped by Bobby.

"No, you're not. I can't protect you out there and we don't need any angel's getting a glimpse of you." Dean huffs, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times as he searches for an excuse, for some form of reasoning. "When I'm back we'll make our way back home, okay." Bobby squeezes Dean's shoulder and makes his way towards the door. "Once I have the weapons I promise I'll be right here and we can go back to mine and try to dig you out of this mess." Dean tries not to read too much into the way Bobby's eyes flicker to Castiel when he says the last part. But before Dean can retaliate Bobby pulls the door open and steps out.

The click of the motel door suddenly seems a lot louder with just him and Castiel in the room but when Dean turns around to speak he finds himself alone.

...

After four hours alone Dean's seriously running out of things to do. He's already watched every channel at least once and has succeeded in binge-watching 'Dr. Sexy' (even though he'll deny it on his death bed).

Castiel hasn't returned yet but he's definitely watching Dean. Two hours in Dean had tried to leave the motel only to find that the door wouldn't open, no matter how much he kicked and pulled it and the windows have some kind of forcefield that allows him to open them but not climb through. The realisation was claustrophobic at first but now it's just irritating. At least in the hospital, he had people to talk to.

It's dark outside by the time Dean finally gives up on finding something else to do and returns to his bed, turning on the TV and allowing a blue glow to illuminate the room. The bedding is scratchy on his bare skin but it provides him with some comfort against being alone. Dean sighs as his eyes flicker across the TV screen this is the first time he's slept alone in a while and the silence irks him. He's grown accustomed to the hustle of the hospital, of Sam's breathing, of the machines beeping and of nurses and doctors weaving through rooms. At the thought of the hospital, he tries to rear his thoughts on to other things. He thinks of Bobby and this mysterious connection of his and of Bobby's attachment to this world, how he knows about things that Dean still questions even after seeing with his own eyes. He tries to ignore the nudging of the gun underneath his pillow as it digs into his neck. Dean rolls on to his side punching at his pillow in an attempt to flatten it and adjust the gun before flopping back down with a huff. He closes his eyes, stifling a yawn but his thoughts whirl and jab through his sleepy haze. Bobby is bound to realise Dean snuck one of his guns when he wasn't looking but he needed the extra protection, something to ground him when he's alone.

Dean rolls his shoulders, stretching underneath the covers to try and disperse some of the tension building there.

Dean knows all the techniques for falling asleep, he's tried them all. But now he's convinced that doing them will only keep him awake longer. Every half hour or so he rolls over and looks at the time. The light from the skinny red numbers getting blurrier with each glance. It's somewhere in the early hours before his thoughts became disorganized enough to release his mind into sleep.

**...**


	11. Sleeping alone

One-click and Dean's eyes are open. In the blackness, he moves slow enough to not make a sound, fast enough to reach for the gun beneath his pillow. He's sat up with his finger on the trigger before he can register what the sound is, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes are still blurry for sleep and if it wasn't for the dull light shining from the TV he would be mistaking a pile of clothes for an intruder.

He waits, counting ten heartbeats before he lowers the gun. He glances towards the door, the thinly curtained window beside it doing nothing to shield the room from the orange glow of the street lights outside. Another click alerts Dean and this time he grips the gun but doesn't raise it.

Another bump.

Swearing.

Dean groans collapsing back on to the bed and pushing his palms into his eyes. The people in the room next to him apparently have no problem waking up the rest of the motel in the middle of the night. The weight of the gun resting in his hand is a heavy reminder of just how crazy of a situation he's in and how completely unprepared he is. Stuffing the gun underneath his pillow, Dean rolls over to try and go back to his dreamless sleep but once again is face to face with a red glow telling him it's only 3 am.

God, he's such an idiot. What would a gun do against an angel? Is he even allowed to shoot one or would he get smite down by the almighty or something?

His mind easily becomes overrun with anxiety now that he has the chance to think it's almost impossible to stop. This whole thing is unreal he never believed in angel's or God, in all honesty, he's not sure he believes in them now. He believes that there are crazy people that will kill him for reason unknown to Dean, but they're trying to kill him because Castiel didn't. And yet Castiel hasn't really told him why he had to kill him, what made him so damn important.

Castiel himself is another problem entirely.

The angel has lied to him, tried to kill him and nearly succeeded, has pumped him full of grace and is the reason why Dean is here alone in the motel room (because apparently leaving someone who is being hunted by a pack of powerful supernatural creatures is completely fine). He rolls on to his back. The TV was a comforting buzz to lull him into a false sleep where he was only half awake but now with the rush of adrenaline, he can't shut out memories of sleeping beside someone, of being able to hear Sam's laboured breathing.

Sam.

The one name he'd been warned to keep out of his head keeps sneaking back in no matter how hard he tries. He shouldn't be surprised. Not really. Because Sam occupies almost every single memory Dean owns. He's a constant reminder of the fact that Dean left him, that he's not here with them. That he could be dying for all Dean knows, he could already be- no. Dean wraps his arms around himself to try and steady his shaking hands. He can't think about that. Not right now.

"Dean we discussed this," Castiel says in a hushed voice as he appears. Dean nods, unsurprised, into the darkness. Castiel always appears when Dean thinks of Sam, he had just hoped that he wouldn't appear this time so that Dean could spare his brother more than a few seconds of thought. An apology is on the tip of Dean's tongue but it quickly transforms into an accusation. "And what did we discuss about you reading my mind?" He wants to ask where the hell Castiel has been but he knows he won't receive an answer and he's too drained to argue now. Castiel frowns, half shrugging. "You're right. I suppose it is difficult for you not to think of your brother." He pauses, watching over Dean as he stares blankly at the wall in front of him. "He is safe Dean. I swear to you I will not let any harm come to you or your brother. Ever." Dean glances up, quirking his lips ever so slightly. "Ever?" The angel nods fondly as he finds himself copying Deans expression. "Ever."

Dean nods back somewhat distantly, his mind trying to organise his previous thoughts. Castiel turns to leave but he's stopped by a hand on his arm. Before Dean realises what he's done Castiel is turning to face him. "I- um. Could you.." Dean glances down at the bed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Castiel's trench coat. "Just for a minute." Dean rushes when Castiel doesn't respond immediately, his cheeks burning pink.

Castiel can't help the smile that grows on his face. Dean still being so trusting, after all, they've been through, after their fight, makes Castiel's heart clench in his chest. He slides Dean's hand off his arm and sits down next to him on the small bed. Their knees knock together as their bodies touch shoulder to hip. Dean tenses at first, gentle human contact becoming a foreign feeling by now, but soon relaxes into the touch. His head lolls forwards before dropping and rolling to the side to rest on Castiel's shoulder, too embarrassed to look at the angel. "You know what Cas?" He whispers. The angel glances down at Dean as he wriggles his head closer into the curve of Castiel's neck. "What?" He replies. Dean hums in the back of his throat, his eyes closed. "I'm so fucking terrified of you." Castiel tenses at the words. As if his whole body decided to just stop existing losing all signs of warmth and life. A feeling Castiel quickly realises is fear, the fear that Dean sees him as nothing more than some monster he's stuck with until he can escape this mess.

However, Dean expresses nothing of the sort as he leans further against Castiel's body. "Because I've only known you for what a couple of weeks? But I trust you, I trust you so damn much, with my life actually. And it scares the crap out of me." He swallows, taking a shaky breath as if speaking the truth caused him psychical strain. Dean feels Castiel smile as his shoulders relax and Castiels head carefully drops on to the top of Dean's. Both of them watch the light from the outside ripple around the room.

Eventually, Dean's eyes shut but he tries not to sleep not wanting to miss a moment. There's still stuff he needs to ask Castiel, that they need to discuss but right here leaning again Castiels side Dean feels the constant nagging slowly calm and disappear into the back of his mind. It's Castiel's grace that's calming him he's sure of it. It's as if a bubble has formed around his head, numbing the rest of his senses.

Dean feels himself slip deeper into sleep, his body becoming limp before he can no longer form coherent thoughts.

**...**


End file.
